


Feitas

by Sauronix



Category: Suikoden V
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE. Based on a series of 50 prompts, this collection of drabbles captures moments in the lives of the Feitas Dragon Cavalry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**[I: Threat]**

“I’m disappointed, Rahal,” says Commander Laden. “What were you thinking?”

Truthfully? He hadn’t been thinking much at all at the time. It was just a game, had always been a game between him and Rania. Granted, he’s in Gordius and she’s not, but how was he to know the other boys would get so upset about the dress?

“You’re fourteen,” Commander Laden continues. “You’re a man now; act like one. You have a lot of promise, but if you keep this up, I’ll have to remove you from the Dragon Cavalry. Am I understood?”

Blinking back tears, Rahal whispers, “Yes, Commander.”

**[II: Empire]**

Craig thinks himself a fair man, but even he knows that, at times, an iron fist is needed to keep order when it comes to rowdy boys.

For decades, Nagarea has lain dormant, thwarted by the earthquake of 376 — but recently, there have been stirrings south of the border. The possibility of an attack has kept him awake more nights now than he can count — the Dragon Cavalry is soft, its ranks thinned out, populated by soldiers who have never known threat of war.

He doubts that he’s the right man to lead them.

Because, despite his authority, he’s one of them.

**[III: Falter]**

They’ve been apart for years — a little over fifteen, he thinks — but when Roog sees her again, all his adolescent feelings come rushing back in force.

“You know, you were a really ugly kid,” she says one night, after they’ve had a few too many drinks at the bar.

“Uh, thanks,” he stammers. Not even booze, it seems, can bolster his courage when she’s around. He’s never been shy, but something about her makes him feel like a green kid.

Miakis laughs. Her voice is fragile, like the gentle tinkle of windchimes on a spring breeze. “Good thing you grew up cute.”

**[IV: Compliment]**

Fate is a funny thing, Rahal thinks.

The first time he met Lun, he didn’t care much for her. She was loud, boisterous, an apparent simpleton, and her zeal for dragon horses, frankly, alarmed him.

Now, she’s one of his best riders. There isn’t a dragon horse alive she can’t charm, including Lance, and she spends most of her free time in the stables feeding them, combing their manes, whispering to them.

She’s living proof that he made the right choice in opening the ranks to women — because whether or not his critics can admit it, she was born for this.

**[V: Glass]**

He hasn’t worn a dress in nine years, not since that humiliating day the commander found out about his predilections.

The fabric is a little moth-eaten, but it still feels good — liberating — on his skin. It’s been stuffed in the back of his armoire, unseen but unforgettable, until today. He doesn’t know why he fished it out and put it on.

He turns slowly and sees himself in the mirror.

Shapely legs. Slim waist. Smooth, golden shoulders.

Anyone would say he’s beautiful. But _you’re a man now; act like one_ , the commander had said.

Now, he sees only something grotesque.


	2. Two

**[VI: Honour]**

When Craig announces his retirement, Roog braces himself. He already knows the changes this revelation will bring — Rahal will become commander, and he’ll have to content himself with living forever in his shadow.

But he’s no more pleased when Craig tells him he’s been made commander in his own right. It’s an honour, for sure, and Miakis is in Sol-Falena — but the thing is, it’s a long way from home.

Rahal embraces him when he hears the news, but his arms hold Roog a little too tight, a little too long.

That’s how he knows he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to go.

**[VII: Work]**

Sometimes, the sounds are painful.

Rania’s ability to hear what others cannot has always been to her benefit, has made her a master — the only master — of her craft. No one else can match her skill, and so she has the market cornered, at least where her business is concerned.

But, as with anything, there are disadvantages. She senses Craig’s fatigue and Nick’s need for approval. She hears the insecurity Roog tries to drown with bravado.

Worst of all, she knows the scars her brother carries on his disconsolate heart.

She shares their burdens silently; this, more than flute-making, is her life’s work.

**[VIII: Jealous]**

At night, Rahal lies awake and wonders what Roog’s getting up to in Sol-Falena.

More specifically, he wonders what he’s getting up to with Miakis.

There’s something a little masochistic about this exercise, but there are times when he’s kind to himself, too. There are times when he imagines Miakis spurning Roog’s clumsy advances, when she puts her duty to Queen Lymsleia before everything else in her life.

At other times, he imagines Roog losing interest, longing for what he’s left behind in Sauronix. 

It’s this scenario that comforts him most.

**[IX: Strings]**

“Pop, I don’t wanna hear it.” Lun angrily shoves another shirt into her travel bag. “I’m _this_ close to becoming a full-fledged cavalry member. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“But that pretty boy—“ Logg starts.

“His name is Rahal,” Lun says through gritted teeth. “He’s a good guy, Dad. You know that. Stop acting crazy.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Ugh! He’s never laid a hand on me, and he never will. _Believe_ _me_.”

Lun slings her bag over her shoulder. She looks at her father; he looks back; both know there’s nothing more to say. She’s cut her ties — there’s no coming home again.

**[X: Sacrifice]**

“Commander, you can’t.” Lun’s hands grip his shoulders (when did she get to be so strong?), and she shakes him once, as if to bring him to his senses. “We need you.”

But the truth is, the Dragon Cavalry doesn’t need him. It didn’t need Craig, and it didn’t need the men before him. Should the Nagareans take him down, someone else will simply take his place — perhaps even Lun herself.

No matter what happens, the Dragon Cavalry will survive him, and in this knowledge, Rahal is reassured. 

His suicide ride will buy his reinforcements — Roog’s men — some time. 

So he covers Lun’s hand with his own, and says, softly, “I have to go.”


	3. Three

**[XI: Innocence]**

“Have you ever touched a woman?”  
 ****

The question makes Yoran flush. “I’m only nineteen,” he protests.

Nick chuckles. “You’re practically an old man. What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing. I’m just not interested.”

“Oh, c’mon. I know a girl down the street who’d be delighted to deflower you.”

Yoran rolls his eyes. He’s not in the mood to explain to Nick that there are few things in life he’s less interested in than being deflowered — that he’s quite happy, thank you, to spend his evenings combing dragon horse manes.

It’s not something Nick, brash as he is, could ever understand.

**[XII: Dispose]**

He spent the latter years of his service in the Dragon Cavalry looking forward to retirement, but now, it’s a daily reminder of his failure.   
 ****

As he languishes in a Kanakan bar, a tumbler of Island Nations rum in hand, he wonders how historians will remember him. Will they be sympathetic? Will they understand his inaction, see that his hands were tied?

Or will they look on him as a coward?

Night after night, these are the thoughts that torture him. 

Night after night, he brings the tumbler to his lips and drowns them.

**[XIII: Commit]**

Roog spends his fifth wedding anniversary regretting anew his mistake. He’s thought about leaving, of packing his bags and starting a new life elsewhere.  
 ****

It’s not that he doesn’t love her. Because he does, of course he does; he’s known Rania most of his life.

There’s a problem, though: when they lie together, late at night, he looks at her and sees Rahal’s face. He didn’t think about it much in the months before they took the plunge. He’s not sure he even realized it might become an issue. 

Now, it’s all he can see.

**[XIV: Neglect]**

Miakis is surprised when things turn out the way they do. She always thought Roog was more invested in whatever it is they have together, that she would be the first to lose interest.   
 ****

She knows he’s longed for home, that whatever happiness he’s found here in Sol-Falena can’t compare to what he’s left behind in Sauronix.

That no matter how much he cares for her, it can’t compare to his connection with Rahal.

Neither of them ends it outright; instead, they let it fizzle. They each attend to their duties, and a little less to each other. Miakis is fine with that, and she concludes, by his easy demeanour in the aftermath, that Roog must be too.

**[XV: Quake]**

He’s the youngest commander the Dragon Cavalry has ever seen, and Rahal is wholly unprepared for the Nagarean invasion when it comes.  
 ****

He grew up thinking they’d never be a real threat. The great quake that collapsed the land bridge in 376 was supposed to keep the Nagareans penned up across the border forever.

But now, he sees their armies massing south of the city, the mountains reaching for the dusky sky behind them.

He knows the Dragon Cavalry won’t be able to hold their ground, much less win this battle. But he gives the signal to move out anyway.

It’s the only thing he can do.


	4. Four

**[XVI: Trouble]**

“Stop needling me, Miakis,” Lymsleia says, in her haughty way, as she drops a pat of butter on her toast. “It’s not becoming of a Queen’s Knight. Now pass me the marmalade, will you?”

Miakis, for her part, is flabbergasted. Gentle teasing has always been a large part of her relationship with the queen—it’s comforted her, to interact in such a sisterly way with the sister she never had. It’s not something she’s prepared—nor, perhaps, able—to give up.

But she hides her emotions well.

She inclines her head and hands the dish of orange jelly across the table. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  **[XVII: Quarrel]**

“Dammit. It’s stuck in there pretty deep,” Roog says, somewhere close to Rahal’s ear. “I’m gonna pull it out. You ready?”

Rahal nods. He’s gritting his teeth too hard to speak, and he’s somehow sweating and shivering at the same time. The crossbow bolt buried in his shoulder, just under his collarbone, feels like a red-hot iron rod searing through him.

Roog places one warm palm firmly on Rahal’s chest, his thumb and index finger cradling the bolt. In his other hand, he grasps the wooden shaft. Before Rahal can ask him to wait, he tugs with all his strength.

**[XVIII: Brood]**

In many ways, it’s only natural that Lance should sire Flail’s foals. They’ve been by each other’s side for years, through thick and thin, through hell and high water. Their bond might not be entirely obvious to humans (very few, after all, understand the language of dragon horses), but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. It’s as strong as the bond shared by their masters — stronger, perhaps, now that they’ve created new life together. 

No matter what comes — if war should claim them, or circumstance keep them apart — some piece of each will live on in the other, forever.

**[XIX: Effort]**

They’re in the middle of nowhere — miles, maybe, from civilization — and the Nagareans are at their back. Rahal is slumped against him, on the verge of collapse; Roog’s shoulder is straining with the effort to hold him upright. He’s removed the quarrel from Rahal’s chest, and bound the wound to the best of his ability, but still the blood creeps through the bandages.

They need to get to a doctor, and soon, or Rahal—

_No._

So he swallows the pain and puts one foot in front of the other, and again, and again. 

**[XX: Turn Away]**

“I’m afraid I don’t think you’re cut out for the Dragon Cavalry,” Rahal says, edging Gavaya’s application back across his desk with his index finger. “There is rigorous training involved in becoming a member. Frankly, you’re a little too old.”

“Aw, c’mon, man,” Gavaya whines. “You let Lun in. She’s, what… seventeen?”

“Lun has shown great promise with the dragon horses,” Rahal explains, patiently. “We have made an exception for her.”

“Make an exception for me!”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

With a whine of frustration, Gavaya crumples his application in one massive fist and storms out of the office.

Rahal takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose. Denying Gavaya was hard enough.

But he won't be the last.


	5. Five

**[XXI: Solve]**

“Our retirement was supposed to be uneventful,” Roog huffs. He’s sweating so much his shirt is soaked right through, but he wipes his forehead on his sleeve anyway and curses the blasted weather under his breath. “Idyllic, even. Like, downing Kanakan wine on a beach idyllic.”  
 ****

“Shhh,” Rahal hisses. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Stuck in a damn Armes prison is the opposite of idyllic. Just sayin’.”

Rahal rolls his eyes, shifting the hairpin a fraction of an inch to the left. Then the lock clicks, and the door glides open under gentle pressure from his palm. He looks up at Roog with a self-satisfied smirk.

Roog grunts. “You were just lucky they didn’t think to frisk your hair.”

  **[XXII: Rest]**

 Craig returns to Sauronix to die. 

He spends his final days in his old bedchamber, just off the room that now serves as Rahal’s office. And Rahal is sitting by his side, a worn book of Zexen poetry open in his hand. ( _Strange_ , Craig thinks, those rare times he emerges from delirium— _I never took Zexens for the poetic type._ )

He fades away quietly, with the gentle murmur of Rahal’s voice reciting those strange Zexen words in his ear, and the calming warmth of Rahal’s hand in his own. 

He’s had a good life, he thinks in those last moments. But now it’s time for something new.

**[XXIII: Soon]**

When it begins to storm, they take shelter in a cavern somewhere east of Sauronix. Roog eases Rahal’s limp form to the ground, propping him against the wall, and peels the bandage from his collarbone.   
 ****

It just won’t stop bleeding.

He jams the heel of his palm against the open wound and tears a strip of linen from his sleeve with his teeth. Rahal slides in and out of consciousness, his pale lips moving soundlessly.

“Hey,” Roog says, tapping his cheek. “The rain’s gonna stop soon. I promise. And then we’ll get you to Sauronix. Okay?”

Rahal’s eyes roll back in his head. Roog thinks, with a sinking heart, that he’s beyond understanding now.

**[XXIV: Listen]**

Rania tries not to listen.   
 ****

The people around her, they don’t understand the depth of her power — that she doesn’t just graze the surface of their minds. She feels what they feel, sometimes before they’re conscious of it themselves.

She knows things she’s not supposed to know. Deep down, Miakis loves Roog, but not as much as she loves her duty to the queen.

Roog knows this, but feigns ignorance, because his infatuation with her is what people expect of him.

It’s hard, sometimes, to stop herself from bringing these things up in conversation, these things they’ve locked away deep inside of themselves.

So she closes her ears, closes her eyes. She tries not to listen.

**[XXV: Haze]**

Sometimes, when she wakes up in a puddle of vomit on the floor, Lun almost admits to herself she has a problem. But by midday, she’s shoved the thought to the recesses of her mind. It was just a bad night. She drank a little too much. It’s nothing serious.  
 ****

Sometimes, Rahal looks at her funny, with those paternal eyes that make her want to punch the concern right off his face. It was a rough night. She just overslept. He needn’t worry.

Sometimes, she drinks to forget that she’s her father’s daughter. 

Never realizing, of course, that the drink is exactly what makes her so.


	6. Six

**[XXVI: Stumble]**

The early days of Rahal’s command are a time of firsts: the first time he has to mete out punishment to an unruly recruit. The first time one dares question his command. The first time he lets his emotions get the better of him, retaliates in anger rather than out of logic.

When Roog visits, they hash it out over beers.

“Shit, man, we all make mistakes, but I don’t think this counts,” Roog says.

“I expelled him from the Cavalry.”

Roog shrugs. “What else were you supposed to do? You’re the boss. If your men can’t toe the line, they have no business being riders. You can’t make everyone like you.” When Rahal looks unconvinced, he adds, “Hell, if you’re expecting us both to meet these lofty standards of yours, I’m screwed.”

**[XXVII: Verbal]**

“I think he’s sick,” Lun announces. Roog hadn’t seen her enter the stable, and he jumps at the sound of her voice. “Yoran told me dragon horses only do that weird snuffling sound when their stomachs’re acting up.”

“Yeah, thanks for the input,” he says curtly. “It’s not like I haven’t been caring for ‘em for the past twenty years or anything.”

“He said rubbing their bellies helps.” When he doesn’t respond, she holds up a jar. “With this ointment.”

“Cripes, do you ever stop talking?”

“D’you ever stop being rude?” she asks pointedly.

They glare at each other for a moment. Then, grudgingly, Roog steps back so she can kneel by Lance’s side.

**[XXVIII: Closing In]**

Roog’s strength gives out a half-mile outside of Sauronix. He falls to his knees, Rahal’s limp body dropping into the grass next to him, but he doesn’t stir, doesn’t even make a sound. The only way Roog can tell he yet lives is by the shallow breaths that stir the dark hair shrouding his face.

At their backs, he can hear the distant thunder of hoofbeats as the Nagareans approach. 

He gazes down at Rahal’s pale face, pulling his swords from their scabbards. He’s tired, bone-weary. 

But he still has one thing left worth fighting for.

**[XXIX: Inert]**

Despite their rocky relationship, news of her father’s death hits Lun hard. _It was a boating accident that took him_ , according to a letter from her mother, _on the Feitas, just off the Baska Mine._

She doesn’t attend morning practice, nor her afternoon drills. She’s deaf to the dinner bell when it rings, and she supposes that must be what tips Rahal off. He shows up just after dusk with concern and a question in his pale eyes. 

And when he sees the tears on her face, he folds her into the comforting heat of his arms.

**[XXX: Destiny]**

“Hey, man,” Roog says, “don’t you ever wonder what happens when we die?”

They’re lying on the grass along the shores of Lake Ceras, away from the hustle and bustle of troops arming for tomorrow’s battle. Above, the stars glimmer like jewels in the fabric of the sky.

“Roog, you’ve spent the past twenty-six years strong-arming your way through life. Don’t get philosophical on me now.”

“It’s a legitimate question!”

“I don’t know what comes after.” Rahal glances at his friend, a gentle smile curving the corner of his mouth. “But I hope it’s just like this moment.”


	7. Seven

**[XXXI: Animal]**

The first time Miakis kills a man, she doesn’t stop to think about it. She’s lost in the heat of battle. Her knives have taken on a life of their own, flashing out at anything that moves, and for all she knows, the blood on her hands could be her own.

It hits her later, when the violence is over, and she’s walking along the castle docks. She falls to her knees and plunges her hands into the water, clawing and scrubbing them frantically as she cries. 

She doesn’t stop until they’re raw and bleeding. She doubts they’ll ever be clean again.

**[XXXII: Jagged]**

Retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Craig’s seen the world, sampled the finest wines, met (and bedded) some truly unique people. But as with Sauronix, no place is without its troubles, and sometimes, he stills finds himself in the middle of it.

“C’mon, gramps, hand over your potch.” A young punk, outside a bar in some podunk town in Armes, with a broken bottle in his quivering fist. “Hand it over or I’ll open your throat.”

_Gramps?_ He’s no young sparrow, but he’s not yet fifty, either. Craig draws his sword from where it’s concealed under his cloak. 

The kid’s eyes widen. He drops the bottle and staggers backward. He takes off at a run. 

**[XXXIII: Measure]**

Lun wakes to find herself in Rahal’s bed. 

The first thing she notices is that she’s naked, and a cautious glance at Rahal tells her he probably is too. He’s got one arm thrown over his head, the sheet pooled around his waist, and his dark hair fanned out against the white of his pillow. His face is turned away from her. 

_Shit. Oh, shit. Shit shit shit. How much did I drink last night?_

She slips her foot out of bed, preparing to grab her things and go, but as she moves, the sheet drags across his hips.

He stirs.

**[XXXIV: Strange]**

Lun freezes as he rolls over and his eyes meet hers. For a moment, he looks confused; he blinks at her twice, frowning, and then his cheeks flood with colour as he processes the situation.

“Lun?” he ventures.

“Commander,” she returns.

“Did we…?”

“Yeah, Commander, I think we did.”

He looks at her silently, his face inscrutable, and she pulls the sheet tight around her chest. Everything about this is so inappropriate — he’s her superior, and hell, more than ten years her senior — but part of her doesn’t really want to leave. He’s just so goddamn beautiful.

“I don’t remember it, though,” she adds.

There’s another beat of silence, and then he says, “Neither do I. Shall we refresh each other’s memories?”

**[XXXV: Ashes]**

The Nagareans attack Gordius first. The Dragon Cavalry rides out to help them — but it’s too little, too late.

Nick walks through the smouldering wreckage of the camp. There isn’t much left: a few tattered, singed banners, slashed up canvas, bodies strewn on the ground. It’s not long before he sees one he recognizes.

_Yoran._ He kneels, eyes filling with tears, and gathers his friend’s corpse in his arms. _Oh, runes, if only I’d come sooner_.

He holds Yoran for minutes, maybe hours, until the Commander comes and places his hand on Nick’s shoulder. 

But Nick can’t let go.


	8. Eight

**[XXXVI: Need]**

Rahal’s back slams against the wall, rattling a rack of training sticks, and then two hands pin him hard by the wrists. When he looks up, he finds Roog’s face mere inches from his own.

“That was unfair,” he says, a little breathless. He tries to arch from the wall, but Roog holds him fast. “You caught me off guard.”

“Well, you told me to go hard. Should I let up?”

Rahal shakes his head slowly. He watches Roog’s eyes flicker to his lips and linger there, and he realizes, suddenly, that there’s something tense in the silence. He takes a deep breath and pushes Roog away.

“Let’s try that again,” he says. “And this time, I’ll be ready.”

**[XXXVII: Haunted]**

“I swear, Yoran, I saw it,” Nick says. “It was wandering around the hallway in a white nightgown last night.”

It’s not the first Yoran has heard of the castle ghost. The Cavalry trainees have been talking about it all week, ever since they came to the Ceras Lake ruins. And part of him wants to believe them, but…

“You’re just trying to scare me,” he whispers, pulling his blanket up to his chin. “People always say there are ghosts in castles.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Stop it, Nick!”

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Nick grumbles, his cot creaking as he shifts. “But don’t come crying to me if you hear something weird in the middle of the night.”

He blows out the candle.

**[XXXVIII: Electric]**

The clouds go grey, unnoticed, like the first trace of silver in an old man’s hair. Then the sky cracks and raindrops like clear flat marbles start to fall, and they scurry for the shelter of the trees, the checkered tablecloth they used for their picnic billowing away on the wind. Miakis glances at Roog, water dripping from her hair and down her cheek and neck and under her shirt. She catches him staring like he’s hungry all over again.

She laughs and pulls him in, and he tastes like electric smoke on her tongue.

**[XXXIX: Touch]**

Roog joins them in the dining hall some twenty minutes after they’ve finished eating. The thin cotton of his shirt, warm and sweat dampened, brushes Rahal’s bare arm as he wedges himself between his friend and another Cavalry member on the bench. Rahal’s skin prickles where the cloth meets it, and when Roog reaches for something across the table, he leans closer, wanting more of that touch now that it’s gone. He pretends to pick a thread from the shirt at Roog’s shoulder, and Roog looks at him for what seems an eternity. But then he smiles, and his thigh touches Rahal’s thigh under the table as he calls for more beer.

**[XL: Waiting]**

Even though they’ve reached the safety of Sauronix, Roog can’t relax.

Rahal is alive, but he’s barely holding on. Roog keeps thinking of his ashen face and the festering wound in his shoulder, the way he hung so limply in Roog’s arms as they crossed into the courtyard. The doctor is working on him now. 

What’s worse is that Roog can’t be by his side, not when the Nagareans are almost at the gates. He’ll be expected to lead the defense. 

He climbs the castle walls and looks out over the southern plains. In the distance, he can see the Nagarean vanguard emerging from the mists. There’s nothing to do now but wait.


	9. Nine

**[XLI: Games]**

Some people gamble for money. Others, not so much.

Roog’s starting to get nervous. He’s sweating, actually, even though a steady snow falls outside the window and all he's got on is the flimsy pair of black shorts he normally wears under his riding clothes. Rahal is smirking over their game of chess, eyeing Roog’s king even as he moves his rook to take it. His handle on strategy is incredible. Sometimes Roog thinks the bastard has a sixth sense when it comes to these things.

“Checkmate,” Rahal croons, and his gaze falls to Roog’s shorts.

**[XLII: Yellow]**

They sit together on the dock, pants rolled up to their knees and their feet dangling in the water. Roog throws his bright yellow lure into the lake and waits for his prey to come to him.

He nudges Rahal’s shoulder. “Betcha I’ll catch the bigger one,” he says.

“Oh, sure.” Rahal moves his leg a little so it touches Roog’s, and combined with the sun, it makes him feel warm and safe, and the thought of dying in battle tomorrow is the furthest thing from his mind. “Just like last time, hmm?”

“I’ll back up my claim by betting a beer,” Roog says confidently.

“I’ll bet you two you can’t.”

“Deal.”

**[XLIII: Gentle]**

Rahal has a steady hand, and he is the only one Roog has ever trusted to take the razor to his head. Over the years, it’s become a ritual — a ritual almost sacred, now that their jobs keep them apart.

“How long has it been since your last shave?” Rahal asks. He soaps up the brush and daubs the lather onto Roog’s pate. “Three months?”

Roog grunts.

“Feels like yesterday,” Rahal murmurs.

Roog closes his eyes. The sound of the blade scraping his scalp is even, methodical, a mantra in the stillness.

**[XLIV: Vision]**

The sunlight reflects off the water droplets that cling to Rahal’s skin as he emerges, naked, from the lake, and for one awed instant, Roog thinks he’s watching the rise of a water god in all his glory.

**[XLV: Stop]**

Roog is dying. He doesn’t realize it at first, can’t even feel the wound. 

Maybe he refuses to realize it. 

He does what he always does. Keeps fighting, wrestling, punching, headbutting, lost in the heat of battle, until his legs go out from under him all of a sudden. He’s shocked. His legs aren’t supposed to do that. 

He tries to rise. But Rahal is by his side, holding his hand, holding him down, his ashen face going in and out of focus.

"Rahal," he gasps, even as the wound in his stomach coughs his blood onto the ground, "I wish—"


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done. It's finally done. Ultimately, I don't know if I like the way it turned out, but the journey was a good one. Thanks for reading!

**[XLVI: Voice]**

Through more than a decade of friendship, Rahal’s voice has been many things. It has been soothing, worried, wry, chiding, angry, and the latter two remain the ones most frequently used where Roog is concerned. But he also knows Rahal only chides because he cares, just as he knows that the sound of Rahal’s voice can be warm, loving, healing, like a mother’s kiss on a scraped knee. Yes, Rahal’s voice has been many things, Roog thinks as he listens to his friend teach a pack of confused trainees how to use a sword. But it has always been beautiful in its patience.

**[XLVII: Gorgeous]**

“You look beautiful,” Lymsleia says. “Just like a princess.”

Miakis smiles at her in the mirror with her red-painted lips. Lymsleia has always known she would one day have to give Miakis away, that Roog would woo her and wed her, that she would give up her duties as the queen’s bodyguard in favour of motherhood.

But it seems too soon. The years have flitted by so fast.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind Miakis’s ear, lowers the veil over her face. “The prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”

And Miakis, she glows. 

**[XLVIII: Progeny]**

“What are you going to name him?” Rahal asks as he bends over the bassinet.

“I don’t know,” Lun says. She strokes her newborn’s cheek, and he coos, stretches, settles into sleep again. “I was thinking of naming him after my pop. But Logg’s kind of an ugly name, don’t you think?”

“I certainly wouldn’t give a name like that to my child,” Rahal admits.

“Maybe I’ll name him after you.”

“Would your husband be okay with that?”

“Why the heck wouldn’t he be okay with it? You’re a great commander. And you have a fan club. I bet half the kids in town are called Rahal by now.”

Rahal smirks. “All the more reason not to name him after me.”

**[XLIX: Perennial]**

They meet at Rania’s the last Friday in August, as they’ve been doing every year for more than a decade. It’s the only time they can all be together — Rahal and Rania, Roog and Miakis, Nick and Yoran, Lun and her family. 

Rania makes her cabbage rolls, and Lun brings her mother’s famous Raftfleet sashimi. Roog provides the beer. In the stuffy kitchen, they eat and drink and catch up on stories from the year gone by. Rania goes around the table and tells each of them what she hears in their sounds. After a few beers, Lun does a tipsy impression of Egbert at his most angry. Roog and Miakis smile at each other and hold hands under the table.

Later, Nick and Yoran challenge Rahal to a drinking contest. But everyone knows they’ll never best him.

They stumble home in the early hours of the morning, hangovers already edging in.

And next year, they’ll do it all again.

**[L: Time]**

When Rahal hits fifty, he decides its time to bow out, to place the Cavalry’s future in the hands of the next generation. He passes the reins to Nick — thirty-seven now, he’s waited too long to take on the responsibility — and leaves for the tropical climes of the Island Nations.

Roog meets him there. They lie on the beach together, sipping coconut cocktails and reminiscing about old times, admiring women who are much too young to want them now.

The years have been kind to Rahal. His hair has faded to an even salt and pepper, and his skin is still taut and elastic. They’ve been less generous to Roog, who’s gone a little soft around the middle, who’s grown a thick beard to hide his double chin.

But when Rahal looks at him, he sees only the athletic, vital, rough-and-tumble man he was, the man who wrestled Lance all day to prove his worth. His laugh, his smile, the warm, brash timbre of his voice — they haven’t changed. The way he says Rahal’s name is more intimate than any lover. It speaks to forty precious years of friendship, of his life’s great platonic love; it promises that whichever one of them dies first won’t have to go alone. 

The cruelty of time has taken many things from him. 

But it can never take that.


End file.
